I can tell you taste like the sky ('cause you look like rain)
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: It's the night before Regionals, and Makoto can't sleep. Haru offers to lend a hand to help him get to sleep. Makoto and Haru, smut.


**Title:** I can tell you taste like the sky ('cause you look like rain)  
**Characters/Pairings:** Tachibana Makoto and Nanase Haruka  
**Summary:** It's the night before Regionals, and Makoto can't sleep. Haru offers to lend a hand to help him get to sleep.  
**Notes:** Adult for smut; the obligatory post-episode-eleven hotel smut. Spoilers in passing for the episode. 1963 words; title from the Morphine song "You Look Like Rain."

* * *

**I can tell you taste like the sky ('cause you look like rain)**

Makoto dozes a little after the door shuts after Haru, but sleep—real, restful sleep, the kind he needs in order to be ready for tomorrow's relay—stays away. Maybe it's the unfamiliar bed or maybe it's what Haru said before heading out that keeps him from drifting off again. Whatever it is has him tossing and turning first this way and then that, trying to find a comfortable position, trying not to think about tomorrow, trying not to worry about Haru. Trying not to worry about Haru is an old habit of his, an anxiety so familiar that it has become almost comfortable. Not-worrying about Haru is a good way to avoid worrying about everything else.

All the same, he's glad to hear the soft rattle of the key in the lock.

Haru is making an effort to be quiet, which is thoughtful of him. He opens and closes the door gently as he slips into the room and doesn't make much noise in the bathroom. Not that that's much good, when the water rattles through the pipes next to Makoto's bed, but he appreciates the effort. Makoto sits up, rubbing his eyes, when Haru pads out of the bathroom. "Have a good run?"

Haru doesn't answer directly and frowns instead. "You should be asleep."

Makoto glances at the clock, well aware of that fact, and shrugs. "Haven't been able to yet."

"Mm." Haru sits on the far edge of his own bed and leans over; Makoto hears the rasp of a zipper as he opens his gym bag. As he rummages through it, he asks, "Are you nervous, too?"

Makoto props himself up on his elbow, perplexed by the question and by the _too_ that accompanies it. Haru has changed a lot since Nagisa came up with the idea of starting a swim club. He wouldn't have asked such a thing just a few months ago.

He realizes that he hasn't answered Haru's question when Haru sits up and looks over his shoulder. "I ran into Nagisa," he says. "We talked."

That makes sense and immediately turns Makoto's thoughts in a new direction. "Is he all right?" It's not like Nagisa to admit to nerves. Frankly, it's a surprise to hear that Nagisa _has_ nerves.

Haru pauses to consider the question and the corner of his mouth kicks up. "He's Nagisa," he says, as if that should explain everything.

Probably it does, at least for Haru.

"But—" Makoto begins, not particularly reassured.

Haru sighs. "He's fine. _I'm_ fine. Everybody's fine. Stop worrying."

Makoto opens his mouth to press for more and stops when Haru's eyebrows go up the tiniest bit, Haru for _You're being ridiculous_. He laughs instead and shakes his head, lying down again and staring at the ceiling. "You'd think I'd be sleepy, with all the things we did today." The long bus ride, walking all over town, climbing up to the overlook to see the pool—he ought to be exhausted. "Maybe I should have gone running with you."

"It didn't help much," Haru says, somewhat muffled. When Makoto turns to look, he's stripping out of his shirt; he emerges with tousled hair and shakes his head to settle it back into place. The low light of the bedside lamp lights his skin in cream and gold, picking out the lean definition of his muscles in shadow and highlights. He reaches for the fresh shirt and seems to realize that Makoto is watching him at the same time Makoto catches himself staring. Haru pauses, looking back, and tilts his head. "Have you—?" he asks, curling his fingers loosely and shaking his hand in a vividly illustrative gesture.

Makoto feels his cheeks warm. "No," he admits.

The light glitters in Haru's eyes. "It might help you sleep," he suggests. "Do you want to...?"

Makoto sighs in relief. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, throwing the covers back and swinging himself out of his own bed and into Haru's.

Haru greets him with a faint smile and a kiss, one that's open-mouthed and hot. Kissing is something they've gotten good at, something they've practiced plenty in the weeks since this new thing of theirs first began. Another side effect of the swim club, Makoto thinks absently, leaning into the movement of Haru's lips against his and the hand Haru weaves into his hair. Maybe they would have gotten to this place eventually even without hugely traumatic near-drowning experiences, but maybe not. It's something to think about some other time, though. For now he has Haru's tongue curling into his mouth, slick and hot, and the lithe curve of Haru's back beneath his hands, and those are enough to lose himself in.

They've managed to carve out time enough for this, trading kisses back and forth during stolen moments and learning to map out the texture of each other's mouths, soft kisses and deep kisses and urgent kisses that leave them shaking and desperate for more, but they've had less luck managing more than that. There's always practice (and more practice), schoolwork, and Makoto's babysitting duties to eat up what little free time they have. Sharing a hotel room like this is an almost unimaginable luxury, even if they should be sleeping instead of making out like this. Makoto doesn't know how many minutes have slipped past while he and Haru are busy kissing, but eventually Haru draws back and lets himself fall back, sprawling across the bed. He looks up at Makoto, his eyes gleaming beneath his lashes. "Well?"

They don't have to hurry; Makoto knows this. Even so, he can't get his shirt off fast enough. He tosses it aside and then catches himself hesitating with his hands hovering over the waistband of Haru's shorts. It's silly to feel shy when he's seen Haru in every possible state of undress, he knows that, but he made his peace with being silly a long time ago.

Haru huffs something, wordless, but he offers Makoto a smile anyway, one that's small and private and just for him. He reaches up and hooks his fingers in Makoto's waistband, dragging his shorts down, perfectly matter-of-fact about it. "They work like that, remember?"

He laughs, protesting a little. "Haru!" he says, finishing the job of pushing his shorts down and kicking them off, trying not to feel too self-conscious of the way his cock juts out, hard and heavy. Haru's seen _him_ naked before, too, but it feels different like this. It _is_ different, when they're like this.

"I thought you might have forgotten," Haru remarks. He reaches up and catches Makoto's hands, guiding them to his waistband, giving him a pointed look.

Makoto laughs again, the sound of it breathless in his own ears, and drags Haru's shorts down his legs. Haru lifts his hips to assist him and kicks the shorts off and then stretches, unembarrassed about it.

Rei doesn't take it far enough, Makoto thinks, watching him. It's not just Haru's swimming that's beautiful; everything about him is perfect. Seeing him now, stretched out against the sheets and wearing the private little smile that Haru only uses for him, Makoto is struck anew by the wonder. This is _his_, though he never really expected it to be. "Haru..."

Haru raises himself up, reaching for him and hooking his hand around the back of Makoto's neck, drawing him down for a kiss. It's easy to let Haru pull him down, after that, and he settles against Haru, chest to chest and hip to hip. Haru tightens his grip on his nape then, making a low sound against his mouth that's somewhere between a groan and a growl, and rocks his hips up to meet Makoto's.

The rush of sensation is both like and unlike the familiar pleasure of touching himself; Makoto shudders and grinds down against Haru, seeking more of that friction. Haru groans again, rocking his hips up. Makoto braces himself over Haru, gasping as their cocks slide against each other, pleasure already curling low in his gut despite the stuttering, unpracticed rhythm of their hips. It's already good; when he catches the trick of moving with Haru, it gets even better. Haru arches beneath him, digging his fingers into Makoto's back as they grind against each other, fresh sweat slicking their skin as they move. The pleasure builds fast, almost _too_ fast—Makoto knows that he could come just from this, because they've done it before—but he wants more than that. He fumbles his hand between them and curls his fingers around their cocks, stroking them together clumsily.

Haru goes taut beneath him, hissing between his teeth as he tips his head back. Makoto watches him, panting and trembling on the edge of coming apart with the raw edge of the sensation as he fists their cocks. "Haru," he breathes, husky, and bites his lip as he strokes his fingers over their cocks. "_Haru_..." He slides his thumb over the head of Haru's cock, smearing the slick beading there, and that's all it takes. Haru's hips jerk against his as he comes, his cock spilling over Makoto's fingers as he groans wordlessly, and it's the most amazing thing Makoto has ever seen. It undoes him; he shakes as orgasm sweeps down on him, washing everything away but the sweet rush of pleasure. He collapses against Haru when it releases him and pants for breath, every part of him gone loose and warm in the aftermath. The glow of the lamp is in his eyes, so he closes them and lets himself breathe in the scent of Haru's skin—sweat and chlorine—as he drifts.

He mumbles a complaint when Haru nudges at him, some unknowable time later. Haru huffs against his ear. "You have your own bed."

"But it's over there," Makoto mumbles, or tries to. He's not sure that it comes out clearly, because Haru huffs again, somewhere far away, and nudges at him until Makoto reluctantly rolls off him. He means to open his eyes, really, but for some reason he can't quite manage it.

Haru says something, Makoto isn't quite sure what, and the next thing he knows is the touch of something soft, wiping up the mess. He smiles, or means to anyway, and snuggles into the pillow, which smells a little like Haru.

The last thing Makoto knows before sleep claims him is the way the mattress dips as Haru tucks himself next to him and draws up the blankets to cover them both. He does not wake up again until their alarm goes off the next morning.

* * *

**Coda**

Rei's attention is on the fluttering in his stomach as he contemplates the coming match; he doesn't have any attention to spare for their senpai until Nagisa nudges him in the ribs. He frowns at Nagisa, at least until Nagisa jerks his chin at the scene across the locker room.

Rei turns and looks; at first he sees nothing out of the ordinary. Makoto and Haru are getting changed, just like always—Haru has a swimsuit on under his clothes, of course, and Makoto doesn't. It's not until Makoto straightens up that Rei sees the marks on his back—rosy bruises, five on either side of Makoto's spine, which were absent at yesterday morning's practice.

Rei is pretty sure that if he measured those bruises and then Haru's hands, the measurements would correspond shockingly closely.

He looks away from their senpai and finds that Nagisa is grinning at him, hand outstretched. Rei makes a face at him and reaches for his wallet, resigned.

At least this conclusively settles the _are they or aren't they_ question, anyway, even if he was an idiot to have bet against it in the first place.

**end**

...because it's becoming a tradition for me to write smut as my entrée into a new fandom. Ahem.

Comments are always lovely!


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